Sound (if Smelly) Advice
Great Uncle Don (on my father's side) is the quintessential story-teller in my family. I remember one visit where he told me about walking across the harbour ice of Gander Bay late one winter's evening in his youth, and coming face to face with will-o-wisps.
Face to numina, I suspect. Wisps typically don't have faces, unless I misunderstand how wispy they are.
Anyhow, while Unc'Don has never actually given me this advice, I can well imagine him doing so: "Open with a story about poop. That'll get 'em hooked."
...
The youngest of our boys, Zach 2.3 (for those of you already familiar with the Harris Style of Age Notation), is in the midst of potty-training. He's gotten the whole 'urination in the bowl' thing down pat, save a few mishaps when he's distracted by something exciting and forgets that his bladder is not the size of an average neighbourhood swimming pool.
He approached me last night, walking bow-legged.
Before realization had sunk in, I actually thought to myself, "He looks like a little cowboy."
Now, that's not as incongruous a thought as it might first appear. While both my wife and I are Canadian, Zach and his older brother, Alex 3.9, were born when we were living down in Austin, Texas. They are bonafide Texans, and some small part of my brain always pictures them garbed in stereotype. Because it's funny.
He swaggers over to me, but doesn't order a sasparilly or ask for some 'quality time' with Miss Kitty. Comprehension hits me about the same time as the odor.
"Plop-plop," he says, with less urgency that I feel is warranted. 'Plop-plop' is our code for defecation, since he has objected to the word 'poop' (a stance that he has yet to explain, and one that mystifies me). I'm surprised the child doesn't carry an Enigma machine around in his pocket to aid in breaking our cracker-jack code.
"Little man, did you have an accident?"
"Yesss! Plop-plop!"
Well, he drawls his S's. That's a start.
Face to numina, I suspect. Wisps typically don't have faces, unless I misunderstand how wispy they are.
Anyhow, while Unc'Don has never actually given me this advice, I can well imagine him doing so: "Open with a story about poop. That'll get 'em hooked."
...
The youngest of our boys, Zach 2.3 (for those of you already familiar with the Harris Style of Age Notation), is in the midst of potty-training. He's gotten the whole 'urination in the bowl' thing down pat, save a few mishaps when he's distracted by something exciting and forgets that his bladder is not the size of an average neighbourhood swimming pool.
He approached me last night, walking bow-legged.
Before realization had sunk in, I actually thought to myself, "He looks like a little cowboy."
Now, that's not as incongruous a thought as it might first appear. While both my wife and I are Canadian, Zach and his older brother, Alex 3.9, were born when we were living down in Austin, Texas. They are bonafide Texans, and some small part of my brain always pictures them garbed in stereotype. Because it's funny.
He swaggers over to me, but doesn't order a sasparilly or ask for some 'quality time' with Miss Kitty. Comprehension hits me about the same time as the odor.
"Plop-plop," he says, with less urgency that I feel is warranted. 'Plop-plop' is our code for defecation, since he has objected to the word 'poop' (a stance that he has yet to explain, and one that mystifies me). I'm surprised the child doesn't carry an Enigma machine around in his pocket to aid in breaking our cracker-jack code.
"Little man, did you have an accident?"
"Yesss! Plop-plop!"
Well, he drawls his S's. That's a start.
posted by Stephen Saunders at 1:40 PM
